


What Remains

by Annehiggins



Series: What Remains [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, What Remains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annehiggins/pseuds/Annehiggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is killed, but something has moved in and reanimated his body. Dean struggles to find out what has happened while he deals with a relationship he never expected to have with his "brother." Takes into account episodes up through "Benders" and sets up an AU where a year passes between that ep and the next.</p><p>Not a new piece. I wrote this little series back in 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Remains

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS that don't quite fit the standard AO3 choices: (all of it revealed in the first 'page' or so.)
> 
> This is a death story in that Sam is truly and irrevocably dead. However, it is not a death story in that only the part of him that can't love Dean in a slashy way and hates hunting goes to Heaven and Jess. The rest remains (hence the title) animated by the spiritual remains (hence the title again) of creatures they've dispatched in the past. I tend to think of it like the Herakles in _The Odyssey._ Odysseus meets up with the ghost of Herakles in the underworld, yet at the same time, Herakles is also alive and a god on Olympus. BOTH are 100 percent the same person, yet somehow they aren't. In the past I've referred to my Sam as NotSam who is Sam.
> 
> Also, this starts out as 100 percent bodice ripper non-con --Dean doesn't have any choice about the sexual relationship, but he enjoys all of it.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/anne_higgins/pic/0000ryk8/)

They watched as they always had. Watched and grew. Yet this time something had changed. While They watched the light one and the dark one move through the house a part of them considered what was different. They felt stronger, more focused. At times They had come close to this moment and it occurred to them that each time this had happened the moon had hovered above with a heavy brightness that had almost banished the night. A part knew energies flowed more strongly on nights such as this. Another knew this moon, while no different to their kind, held a particular significance to human prey, and belief offered up its own power.

The humans scattered a liquid around a large room, then the smaller of the two created fire and dropped it into the fluid. Flames leapt up and the prey turned to go, but the spirits trapped within the walls lashed out. Shards of wood broke away from the walls and hurtled toward the humans with impressive speed.

"Dean!" The dark one shouted and shoved the other downward. Too slow to save him from harm for wood grazed the fair head and stabbed into the join of shoulder and arm. A Part protested -- the newest part -- for not long ago it had feasted on the fair one's energies almost to the human's death. It had found the mixture of passion, loneliness and sorrow within the prey an intoxicating meal and hungered for more despite the end of separateness.

Focused on this lingering longing, They almost missed the end of the dark-haired one. Saving the other had left him vulnerable and the wooden shards knifed into his chest, piercing the heart. The end of existence came before the remains struck the floor.

"Sammy!" the fair one cried out, his soul also screaming out in agony and loss. He reached for the dead one, but his own fading essence left him too weak to close the distance. Soon he too would die and They wondered if his wounds or the flames would bring about his end.

Again the part that desired him wailed in protest as the flames drew closer to the humans and a unifying thought flared within them. They need not lose this awareness or their delicious prey. The soul had fled from the one, but the warmth of life had not yet faded. They flowed forward, then inward, and eyes that had stared without seeing saw once more.

*

Dean Winchester's hand fell limp against the floor. He wanted to touch his brother one last time, but too much blood had flowed from the wound in his shoulder and he couldn't manage it. Sam's eyes were open, leaving no doubt he was dead. It had been quick. Dean was grateful for that -- wouldn't want Sammy to burn alive. Didn't mind the thought of going that way himself. Deserved it. Should have been on guard for a death throes reaction. Gone too long without any kind of down time; lack of rest had made him sloppy. Sam, too, but it was Dean's job to keep his little brother safe and he'd failed. Had to suffer for that. "Be right behind you, Sammy," he whispered and would have closed his eyes, but he needed to see the flames coming, needed to watch over Sam until the very end.

He felt something stir within the room, then saw a shimmer around Sam. "Leave him alone," he moaned, needing to protect even now. The … whatever vanished, then a glow entered Sam's dead eyes. What the hell?

Sam blinked, then sat up. Like it was nothing more than a sticky piece of tape, he pulled the wooden stake out of his own heart. No mistaking that's where it had lodged. Several inches were covered with blood and gore. Must have come close to poking through Sam's back before it had stopped, yet there he was, getting up like his chest wasn't soaked with blood and that nothing much had happened.

Shock and blood loss robbed Dean of his ability to speak, so all he could do was watch as Sam moved over to him, then picked Dean up. Made it seem easy – like Dean weighed all of a pound or two instead of being almost the same weight despite the difference in their heights. He carried Dean right through the flames blocking the way out the front door. Sam didn't seem to mind at all when the inevitable happened and his jeans caught on fire, though he carefully kept Dean's clothes from suffering a similar fate. But Sam just let his own jeans burn until they were safely outside, then he put Dean down long enough to snuff out the flames with his bare hands.

Dean could smell the burnt flesh and if he'd had more energy he'd have thrown up. Instead he did all he could – he lay there and watched.

Once Sam had finished, he picked Dean back up as if his charred hands didn't bother him at all. Except they weren't charred anymore by the time Sam settled him in the passenger seat of the Impala. What the fuck was going on? He couldn't manage to voice the question, but the need to find out gave him the will to stay alive, stay conscious during the twenty-mile drive to the cabin they'd holed up in.

Once safely inside Sam settled him on the big old feather bed that filled a good part of the place. First time Dean had been on it. Being the shorter, Dean had been bedding down on the overstuffed couch across the room and hadn't had any complaints about his comfort, but the bed felt good, like it would be a good place to die.

He pushed back the morbid thought and tried to focus. Dean didn't have a clue what would happen next, but he'd had enough surprises that he didn't bat an eye when Sam stepped back, then stripped. In fact he preferred nudity to the sight of that blood soaked shirt. 'though not all the blood went with the shirt and Sam rubbed at the dried stuff clinging to his skin. Wasn't any sign of a wound – let alone a gaping hole in his heart.

The bloody, burnt clothes were kicked away, then Sam pulled off everything Dean was wearing from the waist down. For a moment they both looked at the wood shard lodged in Dean's shoulder. A lot of blood had spilled from the wound, but judging from the position of it, a hell of a lot more would flow once the wood came free. Sam had to know it had nicked an artery, too, but he still reached for it. Dean thought about trying to convey just how bad an idea that was, but all things considered he decided a fast exit might be for the best.

He gasped at the pain of the wood's departure. First sound he'd made since Sam had come back to life. Except odds were damn good that wasn't what had happened so he didn't bother to make the normally required "you idiot" comment when the blood started to gush. Didn't surprise him when Sam made no move to stanch the flow, but it sure did when Sam began to jack off with a hand covered with Dean's blood.

Damnedest thing Dean had ever seen which was saying a lot. Sam came quick, too, his semen spurting out within three strokes of his hand. Now wet with more than blood, Sam returned his damp hand to Dean's shoulder. He gasped at the touch, then flat out moaned when Sam began to rub the mess. At first he thought he felt nothing beyond pain, but a sensation of warmth gradually penetrated, then replaced it.

He glanced at his shoulder and found the wound as gone as the one that should have been decorating Sam's chest. Healed by spunk, now that was a new one. He looked back up at Sam and found a smug smile decorating his face. Not knowing what to make of that, Dean shifted his attention and found himself looking at a still hard cock.

A bad feeling – or rather a worse one than he'd had since they'd walked into that damned house – swept through him. He tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. Not even when Sam flipped him onto his belly, then quick as you please and without anything to ease his way, he jammed his cock up Dean's ass.

A wordless scream clogged Dean's throat at the tearing pain both in his flesh and his soul. Any hope at all his brother still existed vanished in that first brutal thrust. Bastard came with the second thrust and a warmth Dean shouldn't have been able to feel flooded his insides. Kept going, too, moving up through his belly and into his bloodstream, and just that quick the pain in his backside vanished along with the light-headedness from his blood loss.

No softer now than after he'd come the first time, Sam started thrusting again. Didn't hurt this time. Matter of fact it felt damned good and Dean felt himself harden. Part of him was horrified – something that looked like his brother was raping his ass and he was getting off on it – the other part was too focused on the getting off to care. He came, but stayed hard, same as Sam did. This was bad on so many levels, Dean couldn't begin to count them, but he didn't fight when Sam stopped long enough to turn him back over, then added soul-devouring kisses to all that pounding away.

*

Sometime after the sun had come out, Sam got them both into the shower. He took Dean five or six times – Dean was beginning to lose track of all the mutual orgasms – between cleaning them both up. Once Sam had cleaned his own cock off, he abandoned his fondness for Dean's ass long enough to push the ever-hungry cock into Dean's mouth. Half out of habit and half out of a need to not choke to death, Dean started working the thing. Wasn't his first time by a long shot, he'd just never bothered to tell Sam his casual affairs included batting for the home team. Still, he'd have to have a word or two with Sam about it being polite to ask before shoving things into orifices.

Warm fluid flowed into his mouth, but it didn't have the universal salty-bitter taste. Was sweet instead and almost familiar. As Sam lifted him up he tried to place the taste. He took a moment to gasp when the cock resheathed itself inside his ass, then he wrapped his legs around Sammy's waist. He knew he should be kicking and screaming, should be doing everything he could to get away. Instead he clung to Sam while he carried him back to bed. Dean might even have been the one to encourage a resumption of the kissing.

In one of those odd memory moments, the one he'd been trying to find popped into his head as Sam settled him on the mattress again. He'd been talking with a fortune teller and she'd brought out some concoction she'd called an energy tea. She'd said it had rose water, honey and a few other things in it. Wasn't an exact match to the taste in his mouth, but close enough to give him a reference. He filed the information away in some part of his brain that hadn't gone to mush in the face of all this sex, then let himself stop thinking.

*

They fucked. They didn't speak, just fucked. One would climax, then the other, but they'd keep on going. There were more trips to the shower and afterwards the same insistence on a blow job before they returned to the bed. Only time Dean could think at all was during those shower trips. Couldn't track how many of them there had been, but sometimes it had been dark outside, other times the sun was up.

The vague notion this was how he was going to spend the rest of his life occurred to him more than once, then suddenly they both came at the same time and it was over. Sam's cock came free of his ass and went soft, just as his own did. He flopped down on the bed beside Dean and they both stared at the ceiling. Okay, this was beyond awkward. And God, this bed was disgusting.

Dean got up, almost surprised his body could move without Sam manipulating it. He walked slowly toward the door. He could feel the eyes watching him, but nothing was done to stop him from opening that door, then walking outside. Moon was overhead, fat and full, but he could see better than even that could account for. Guess magic sperm let him see in the dark as well as healed. Wait a minute, the moon was full. He knew that at least a couple of days had slipped by so it shouldn't have been full anymore. "Son of a bitch," he muttered in wonder. That thing inside had fucked him for a solid month. The shear absurdity of the feat faded away quickly beneath the other part of the thought. Thing. Not Sam. No longer dying or getting off, his mind finally let him process what he'd known all along – Sam was dead. His brother was dead.

Pain welled up within him and he screamed it out as he sunk to his knees. He began to shudder with violent sobs as he mourned the loss of a brother he'd loved with all his heart. Sammy. God, Sammy. His baby brother. His responsibility. He'd dragged Sam away from college and the woman Sam loved into a life Dean knew he'd never wanted. And it had gotten him killed. What kind of man did that to his brother? Sammy should have been safe and sound. All married and halfway to being lawyer Sam, but Dean had been too selfish, too tired of living and fighting alone to allow it. Sam's woman had died because of it. Now Sam.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice rasping with tears and disuse. "God, Sammy, I'm so sorry."

*

He watched the Other leave the cabin and felt a tightness in his chest as he fought the impulse to stop him. This wanting but not doing confused him. Before oneness all Parts had reveled in hunting and feeding with no thought at all given to the needs of the prey. But the joining with the Host had brought more than oneness for the memories of life before remained within the mind of the Host.

Now he knew humanness. He did not feel what the Host had once felt – that had fled with the soul – but he remembered what it had felt. He remembered how the Other had protected the Host and how the Host had rejoiced at growing old enough to protect the Other in turn. He remembered the pain felt during the time the Other had almost died and the joy at finding a way to save him. And he remembered a different pain, a pain that came with not being able to love the Other the way the Host knew the Other wished him to love. That love had belonged to another, to a woman whose soul had departed, not to the Other. He remembered the only solace to that pain had been knowing the Other had not allowed himself to know the sort of love he desired from his brother. Apparently humans viewed this love as wrong, as something that damned them in their concept of After.

He did not feel these things. Despite knowing them, remembering them, he did not understand them. The Other was … all. Brother, protector, friend, why could he not also become lover? It made no sense to him. The Part that had desired the Other had focused all awareness on him and now he knew the delicious taste and feel of that desire. It was not something he would ever allow to escape him. The Host had been foolish, but he was not.

These thoughts focused his oneness and he rose from the bed. He was hungry and wanted the Other back in his arms. He had no care beyond this, but when he reached the door and saw the Other sitting in the snow and crying as if he would shatter, something inside made him stop. "Dean?" he whispered.

*

Arms tried to encircle him, but Dean leapt up and as far away as he could get. "Damnit, don't you touch me!" he shouted.

It gave him a long look; one that said quite clearly that it was tolerating this behavior for the moment, but Dean should not expect such consideration for long.

Fury surged through him. Fucking thing had stolen his brother's body, then used it to rape Dean and it was looking at him like he was a kid throwing a tantrum over not getting a cookie before supper. "Did you kill him?" he demanded.

"It is not possible to animate a body when the spirit remains." It shouldn't have surprised Dean to hear it speak with Sam's voice, but somehow it did. He wanted, maybe even needed some Darth Vaderesque heaviness to the voice. Something, anything to tell more than Dean's sense of reason that Sam was not sitting there staring at him as if he were some sort of cute retard. "The spirits within the house killed him."

He believed the thing because he had to, because he could not bring himself to think he'd allowed his brother's killer to fuck his brains out for thirty freaking days. Time to ask the obvious question. "What are you?"

It tilted its head in a considering gesture he'd never seen Sammy use, then absurdly said, "I am Sam."

Dean shook his head. "My brother is dead."

A nod, then the thing stood. "His soul had gone to where the souls of all prey go after death." It paused a moment, a considering look on its face, then added, "Never have I seen a soul go so swiftly into the light."

Well, that was flattering, but at least it didn't talk like Sam. Same voice, but the word choice and flow were way off. He took absurd comfort from that despite the words. "Nice to know I meant so much to him."

It nodded either not understanding sarcasm or not caring. "So what are you?"

"I am Sam," it repeated, and suddenly he'd had enough of this shit.

Dean punched it in the jaw. Hard enough he felt a knuckle or two burst at the impact, but it didn't even bat an eye. Furious he swung again, but it caught hold of his hand. The pain had already stopped by the time it kissed his knuckles. Good thing or it would have messed with his mind enough to think the damned thing could kiss away his injuries. Of course that might have been preferable to chalking it up to the lingering effects of magic semen.

A second press of lips, then it said, "His soul is gone, but I retain the body and the memories; I am Sam."

"Sam wouldn't fuck me."

He shook his head. "No, his love for you was of a different kind, but emotions belong to the soul. A part of what I was before desired you, so now you are lover, not brother."

Suspicion flared. "You were that bitch who tried to suck me dry." Succubus had gotten hold of him a week … a week and a month ago. It would have killed him if Sam hadn't killed it first. Somehow the damned thing had managed to possess Sam's body, but he'd never heard of that happening before. Hell, he'd never heard of any of the shit that was going on happening before.

"It was part of us, but now we are one and I wish to keep you."

"And what if I want you to keep your fucking hands off me?"

A sly smile snaked across its face as he stared at Dean.

Two seconds later, three at the most, and a sexual heat flooded through Dean. He hardened with a swiftness that made him sink to his knees with a needful moan. Beyond the ability to feel anything other than desire, he shifted to present his ass, then sighed with relief when it thrust into him. It took its time with Dean – more than enough to prove its point – but it didn't lead him into another month-long orgy. Instead release came with orgasm and Dean collapsed against the snow-packed ground. He bit back a disappointed whimper as it slipped out of him, then something occurred to him.

He was sprawled stark naked in the snow and didn't even feel a mild chill. Instinct guided his hand to his cock. He swiped a finger through his own come, then licked it clean – same taste of honey and rose water. "What the –" Okay, he was going to stop saying fuck to a thing that had turned him into Super Sex Toy. "What the hell did you do to me?"

"I have made you mine for all time."

Expected, but not welcome news, but a little clarification might be nice. "Meaning?"

It pulled him up off the ground and around to sit on its lap. "You will remain with me forever."

"Forever?"

"Yes."

"As in 'for all eternity' forever."

"Yes."

Perfect. Just perfect. "Just so I'm clear on this – you fucked me into immortality."

It looked very pleased with himself. "Yes. You are far too delicious to remain prey."

Dean did not like this prey thing, and while he never would have described himself as a religious man, he couldn't help but mourn the loss of all hope of ever seeing his brother or mother again. And no mere succubus should be able to do all this. Those bitches were about draining and death, not granting immortality. He couldn't help himself, he had to ask again, "What are you?"

"I am Sam."

"You. Are. Not. Sam."

It got him another tolerant look, then a smile. "Then I am NotSam."

He glared, half because he hadn't thought of calling the thing that himself, then he sighed, "I didn't ask for this."

"No," NotSam agreed, then began nibbling on his neck.

"You're going to fuck me some more, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Dean sighed. "Can we at least change the sheets on the damned bed first?"

*

Sweet bliss thy name is Dean. NotSam smiled as he thrust into Dean's body. Dean. Dean. Dean. With each kiss, each movement together, Dean became more precious. In the back of NotSam's mind he thought of him as Beloved now, but the memories had become his own now and he knew how much Dean would loathe it so he did not let the word pass his lips.

He had more focus now. No longer was there a sense of lingering separateness. He was one. He was Sam in all ways but one – he remembered loving others, wanting others, but now he cared nothing for anyone beyond Dean. He had allowed Dean to become the everything he always should have been and had no regrets for the loss of all else. He saw no point in loving a dead woman, of missing a mother he'd never known or in being obsessed with a father who did not want to be found. "Dean," he whispered, then for the first time spoke of feelings that were of the One, not the Parts, "I love you."

Dean stared at him with beautiful wide eyes. He did not speak, but his limbs tightened around NotSam. It was enough.

*

The next time NotSam let him come out of the sexual stupor long enough to escape the cabin, Dean discovered that the weather had turned warm and he doubted it was because of an early thaw. He didn't quite get this. Sure, he wasn't usually the worst looking guy in the room – in fact, he'd admit he normally felt he was the top dog – but this "fuck you for all eternity" thing was like something out of some twisted Greek myth and who was really worth that sort of fuss?

He kicked at a clump of dirt and tried to figure out how much time had gone by. Grass was green, buds on the trees looked close to sprouting, etc. all pointed to mid-spring. He'd gone into that haunted house with Sam in mid-December. Since then he hadn't slept, eaten, drank or needed to use the toilet. Damn, this was hard to wrap his mind around.

"Dean, come back to bed."

He stiffened. Now, that had sounded like Sam. He glanced toward the cabin doorway and nothing in the lazy way he'd propped himself against the door jam said it was anything other than his brother standing there. Well, nothing beyond the nudity and the hard on pointing at Dean. "Got the sheets changed already, huh," he muttered and looked away.

An exasperated sound answered him, then he felt the sexual heat rising within. "Damnit!" he shouted, whirling around, "do I mean anything at all to you other than a couple of openings to fuck?"

NotSam blinked and the coiling heat evaporated. He not it. Dean still thought of him as NotSam, but he'd stopped trying to avoid masculine pronouns. Hell, who better than Dean to know the thing had all the basic parts to qualify for male status? "Did you miss the part where I told you I love you?"

Dean rolled his eyes, then turned back around to face him and found the erection gone. Progress at last. "You fuck me."

The puzzlement deepened. "That's how I show it."

"Making love usually involves choice."

NotSam shrugged. "I want you, you want me back. It's the way this works."

He sighed again. If it worked that way, it worked that way, and he had a feeling NotSam wouldn't lie to him. He was certain of something else, too. "I can't survive on just sex." Somewhere out there his name had just ended up on the list of guys who needed to be kicked out of the gender, but damnit, he didn't care if he sounded like a woman, there _was_ more to life than just sex.

"Yes, you can."

"Hey, you can keep my body alive as long as you want, but keep this up and my mind is checking out." He glared at NotSam. "So you better decide what you want."

Damn the man, he took a long couple of minutes to think about it. "You can be annoying outside of bed."

"So can you," he shot back, clamping down on the urge to add _Sammy._

"And you like to give me orders."

"Like that's not what you're doing when we're in bed."

NotSam sighed. "You want to start hunting again."

"That, too," he answered without thinking.

"What else?"

Damn. "I need to know how this happened."

"You can't kill either of us, Dean."

He was mostly relieved to hear that. Suicide wasn't his style and killing something so like his brother wouldn't come easy. Doubted he could do it if it came down to it. Even if demon hunting was what he was all about. "Still want to know."

Another long, then, "I'll consider it."

That sounded suspiciously like a demon version of the parental-maybe. Not good.

NotSam nodded "Now come back to bed."

He couldn't think of what to say so he glared.

NotSam smiled sweetly. "I can't think when you aren't in my arms."

"Shit, this is ridiculous."

He shrugged, then went back inside. Cussing all the way, Dean followed.

*

NotSam nuzzled behind Dean's left ear drawing out the soft sigh he loved so much. How could he give this up? Sheathed deep inside Dean's body while his lover clung to him with a desperate desire that put to lie any denial of mutual desire – this was paradise and what fool walked away from paradise? And yet. …

"I love you," he whispered and Dean made a near whimpering sound. He did not return the sentiment nor make some sarcastic remark about the value of declarations during sex. NotSam doubted he even thought such words. While he obviously remained aware of physical sensations, their lovemaking seemed to rob Dean of all sense of self or surroundings.

Twice now the need to hear Dean's voice, to talk with him, to be with him in any sense beyond raw sex had compelled NotSam to release Dean from his energy web. It alarmed him to think Dean might be right and that one day nothing would remain beyond the beautiful body in his arms. The thought sickened him. He truly loved Dean – not just his body.

But to let him hunt again. … It did not seem like a good idea. _Prey should always remain isolated from others._ Such had been his mantra through for all pre-Samness. _Dude, if you love someone set them free._ He frowned liking neither the idea of treating Dean as prey or seeking wisdom from song lyrics.

If he let Dean exist beyond their bed, if he let him resume hunting he could be hurt again. He licked the spot on Dean's left breast where a brand had marred the now smooth flesh. Worse, while Dean had hidden it from Sam, NotSam knew all about the headaches that had plagued Dean since they had encountered the human foes. The eldest Bender had hit Dean too hard. Slowly, very slowly, an aneurism had formed beneath the skull. If NotSam had not healed all wounds, Dean would have died within weeks of the fateful trip to the haunted house. The thought of Dean in pain pleased him no more than the idea of him losing his Deanness.

Then there was Dad. Leaving this cabin would make meeting John Winchester inevitable. Would their father be able to see the differences in his youngest son? He didn't want to kill the man, but he could not let him take Dean away. Worse, if anyone could figure out a way to kill NotSam it would be his father. Or Dean should NotSam kill their father. No, to leave this place would be very dangerous. But they could not stay.

The cabin did not belong to them and the return of good weather would bring the owners and the Samness would not allow him to kill them. So they had to leave, but if they left where would they go? He had no reference to home – a thing every member of his collectiveness shared, including Sam. Demon and human alike, they were wanderers, happier, safer moving from place to place.

He sighed against Dean's throat. Paradise lost to reality, he let the energy build then surge in the same moment. Dean groaned loudly in release, then lovely eyes focused on him.

NotSam chose not to move aside. Instead he willed himself to stay hard enough not to fall free from Dean's body and remained on top of him. "You are so beautiful," he murmured brushing his lips along Dean's jaw.

"Umm, thanks. I guess." Dean's voice held that uncertain this-is-new-and-I'm-not-sure-what-to-think quality to it.

He smiled, then rolled onto his back, pulling Dean with him. He urged his lover to sit up so NotSam could stay inside him, then ran his hands along the thighs straddling his waist. "I miss the sound of your voice."

The expression shifted to you're-losing-it-Sammy. 

To punish him, NotSam slid a finger along the underside of Dean's cock.

Dean groaned loudly and arched his back.

So beautiful. "Tell me how it feels."

"What?"

"Me inside you, my touch."

"Good, it feels good."

He pulsed his hips upward and Dean gasped again. "How good?"

"Damned good.

Another pulse. "Tell me."

"Please –"

The unsaid-Sammy hung heavily in the air. Enough. "Say my name."

"You don't have a name."

"Yes, I do." He caressed the silkiness of Dean's cock again. "Say it for me."

A pulse tore the desired word from Dean's throat, "NotSam."

He smiled, deciding it would do. "I have so many memories of you hunting," he said, his voice soft and low. "So swift, so deadly, so beautiful. I think of you like that when I take you." He slipped his thumbs across Dean's nipples. "Tell me what it feels like when I touch you."

Dean shook his head in a rapid motion that denied the command as well as begged for more.

His hands shifted to Dean's hips to steady his lover, then NotSam began to thrust harder, but not in a rhythm that would bring completion. Such intensity would deprive him both of his lover's awareness and the answer he sought. "Tell me," he urged. It wasn't fair to do this to Dean, to force the words from him, but NotSam needed to know he was not the only one who burned with need for what Dean asked him to abandon. "Tell me what it feels like. Tell me."

"No, I –"

He kept thrusting, his hands caressing golden flesh while his soft voice kept pleading for confession. In the end, as he always did, Dean gave his brother what he wanted.

"It makes me … feel like …" a tear rolled down his cheek and fear shown in his lovely eyes, "like I want you in me … forever."

Ashamed, yet flushed with triumph, NotSam slipped a hand behind Dean's neck and drew him into a kiss. He could taste the salt and fear of never leaving this bed again. His lips shifted to Dean's ear and he whispered, "We'll go hunting."

*

Dean pulled his jeans on, then frowned. They felt … weird against his skin. Three months of naked had apparently wiped out a twenty-seven-year long affair with denim. Damn. He glared at NotSam and got that annoying smug look again. It faded the minute NotSam pulled on his own jeans. Dean smirked, opted to forgo his shirt for now, then headed for the table where they'd set up the laptop.

Checking their e-mail didn't get him anything but a lot of questions from their contacts. Could sum it all up as "where the hell are you, the monsters don't take vacations." Such tender concern threatened to make him cry. Right. He scowled at the screen. He needed answers, damnit! And how the hell was he going to get them when he kept having to avoid a few basic facts like Sam was dead and he'd been turned into something other than human by a demon in a Sam-Suit. And that was the rated "G" version.

He glowered at NotSam again, who laughed and kissed him. That was all, just a kiss. A good kiss, but just a kiss. "What was that for?" he asked.

"You're cute when you're disgusted."

And that was another thing – he was far too comfortable with NotSam, maybe even more comfortable than he'd ever been with his brother because NotSam never made him feel like he had better places to be than with Dean. Damn, that was fucked up. Tears filled his eyes than began to spill. It had been like this since they'd started spending time outside of a sexual haze. Things would be as okay as they ever got, then he'd remember and grief and guilt would overwhelm him. Didn't help at all that he always ended up cradled in NotSam's arms, but it did. And that was even more fucked up.

He bit his lip and buried his face in the side of NotSam's neck. Could life get crazier than this? A demon who had possessed his dead brother's body was comforting him while he mourned his brother's death. None of this could be real, had to be a nightmare, but if it was, he couldn't find a way to wake up. Worse when Sam's voice whispered, "I want to stay with you forever," Dean wasn't certain he wanted to.

*

It hurt to see Dean cry. At first the pain lingered in his heart because Dean mourned that NotSam was holding him instead of Sam. This foolish notion lasted but a fleeting time. Too much of what NotSam had been reveled in the hunt and the man in his arms was a magnificent hunter. It made NotSam love him, want him all the more, but it also meant Dean Winchester was one of the very few humans who could truly understand the slight differences between what had fled to the After and what had remained. It seemed absurd to NotSam to allow what he loved about Dean to also hurt him, but he still hurt. This was also part of human love – hurting when a beloved one was in pain. Yes, it hurt and it frustrated him that he could do nothing to ease the pain beyond holding Dean. Well, holding him and listening.

Yes, Dean understood that NotSam was different and the things he'd wanted to tell Sam, but had not dared to, often slipped out. So it was the lover, not the brother who knew Dean had not fought the Reaper when it had come for him. Dean had felt crushed beneath the guilt of knowing another had died to save his life and he'd felt surrendering that life force to save another was the only way to atone. And it was lover who heard him say, "I told them to choose Sam."

"Told who?" he asked, his hand gently rubbing Dean's back as he sat huddled on NotSam's lap.

"The Benders." He lifted his head from NotSam's shoulder and looked up at him. "If I didn't choose Sam or Kathleen to be their next victim, the old man was going to put my eye out with that hot poker."

NotSam shuddered. How could anyone think of destroying one of those gorgeous eyes? The very thought made his stomach churn and he held Dean closer. "You chose Sam."

"Yeah, I figured he could whip their asses and get us out of there."

NotSam nodded. "It was a good plan." Given the circumstances the only plan, but he knew how it had turned out.

Dean told him anyway. "They said they were going to hunt him, give him a chance, but after I chose him, the old man said to just shoot him in the cage."

He ran his hand over Dean's hair. So much guilt inside that head. "You couldn't have known, and your brother did save you."

"Yeah, he did, but –"

He moved his hand beneath Dean's chin and gently pushed his head up so they were looking into each other's eyes. "No, buts. You made the only decision you could and in the end you were the only one hurt." Hurt, dying by inches from the moment the old man had knocked him out.

"When I heard those shots –"

NotSam kissed him. And Dean clung to him as if NotSam were granting absolution for his sins.

*

_Demonic possession sex immortality._ Dean couldn't think of anything else to mention, so he hit ENTER and let the search engine go to work. A split second later 127,000 hits popped up. He sighed. This was about as helpful as using their contacts without giving them all the details.

NotSam looked over his shoulder, then said, "Add _fire_ and _blue moon_."

Dean gave it a try. "Oh, that's helpful. Now it's just 64,600 sites to check."

A swat against his shoulder told him what NotSam thought of his gratitude. "Wait a minute, what's with 'demonic possession?' I didn't possess this body." He started to say something else, then gave Dean a long assessing look. "Move."

"What?"

"I need to change the search parameters."

"I can do it."

NotSam nodded. "But you won't want to."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you trying to hide from me?"

Blue eyes rolled in a way that was so utterly Sam it made Dean's chest tighten. "Fine, you do it -- replace 'demonic possession' with 'corpse reanimation.'"

Corpse. Sam's corpse. The fucking waterworks started up again and both the thing with his brother's face and the laptop blurred.

NotSam sighed heavily, lifted Dean up long enough to sit down, then resettle Dean on his lap. Once he had Dean where he wanted him, NotSam reached around him and swapped out the phrase in the search request line. 144 sites popped up, but only the first one had every key word.

Curiosity pulled Dean's attention back to the matter at hand, and if he sniffed a few times while he read, NotSam didn't bother to mention it. The indicated site turned out to be about a book – a Victorian era novel that hadn't been considered good enough to warrant a scandal despite its pornographic content. From the excerpt provided the details matched up too well for it to be a coincidence, but a couple of things were different. The body reanimated had been the man's wife, and, while the sexual content was … inspiring, the couple had fed off each other's blood versus sexual fluids.

That made no sense at all. A succubus wasn't a blood sucker. In fact it had an aversion to the red stuff since injured people usually didn't want to have sex. Giving Dean a wicked cut on the arm had been how Sam had finally gotten the thing off of Dean. He'd had an impressive scar from the incident until NotSam had changed him. Now, despite a hard life, he didn't have a mark on his body he hadn't been born with. Another little side benefit. So had blood sucking done the same thing for VictorianDeanandSamantha? Not enough text to tell. He needed to get his hands on the book. Out of print according to the site, so he did a search for it. Couple of sources popped up and he winced at the price. Just his luck he had to need something rare instead of a nice 2-cent overprinted used-paperback.

He did the necessary transfer from one bank account to another – how anyone managed to handle the finances of multiple identities prior to online banking he did not know – then used his cell to call the nearest dealer. "No, don't mail it," he said once the transaction was complete. "I'm on a road trip – be in the area in three or four days so I'll pick it up then."

NotSam waited until he'd hung up before saying, "Three or four days, huh. Portland's only a two-day drive from here."

The smugness in NotSam's voice irritated him, but the warmth of his breath against Dean's neck made his skin tingle. He scowled and rubbed at the itch of drying tears. "Maybe I want to do some sight-seeing."

The lips against his neck curled into a smile and Dean wondered for a moment if NotSam would go vampire on him now, like maybe it was a delayed reaction sort of thing. Instead NotSam whispered, "I'm hungry, let's do some 'sight-seeing' now."

Dean's scowl deepened. Letting NotSam get into his jeans didn't sound like a good way to hit the road. Then again, Dean squirmed on top of the hard shaft pushing against his denim-clad butt and decided he could do with a snack himself. "Thirty minutes, then we're outta here."

A large warm hand settled on his crotch making him arch upward. "Four hours."

"An hour."

Clever fingers opened his fly, then snaked inside. "Four hours."

NotSam's fingers did that slide-squeeze-with-a-slight-twist thing Dean liked so much and he conceded defeat. "Four hours," he groaned, but, just so NotSam didn’t think he was a total pushover, he added, "And I'm setting the alarm on my watch."

In a literal blink of an eye NotSam had him naked and on the bed. "Whatever makes you happy, gorgeous," he teased, then set about distracting Dean enough to forget what a watch was let alone how to set an alarm.

Four hours later NotSam let him out of bed and helped him pack up their stuff. Dean could feel the tingle throughout his body that told him the demon would have preferred to take up residence inside Dean for another week or six, but NotSam did nothing to delay them another second. It was a good thing actually – they'd been really pushing their luck staying here. One of Dad's contacts owned it, so they'd had permission to use it, but they'd been out of touch for so long it was a miracle no one had come looking, which meant the current situation would have gotten back to John Winchester and Dean didn't even want to think about his dad's reaction to all of this. After all the family business was slaying demons, not playing sex toy for one of them.

Dean dropped the last bag into the trunk of the Impala then slammed it shut. He turned, sitting back against the cool metal, and gave NotSam a long look.

"What?"

"Just wondering," Dean answered.

"What about?"

"Why you're letting me hustle us out of here when you want me."

NotSam looked puzzled. "We made a deal."

"Doesn't mean you have to keep it."

He stepped up close to Dean, then leaned down to brush his lips against Dean's. "Yes, it does."

Mmm, that tasted good. Dean couldn't help a slight smile. "We can stop in four hours."

NotSam grinned. "Thirty minutes."

"Four hours."

"All right, but I'm setting my watch."

"Good luck with that."

A laugh, then another kiss. "I love you," he said. "Now, start driving or I'll bend you over the trunk."

"In four hours."

*

NotSam loved driving the Impala. All that control over all that power. Delicious. He smiled slightly, the parallels between mastering the car and Dean obvious.

"So who rides better? Me or the car?" Dean asked. Apparently it was a little too obvious.

He made a show of thinking about it, then laughed when Dean punched him in the arm. He caught hold of the offending limb and pulled Dean across the bench seat into a deep kiss marred only by the necessity of keeping one eye on the road. To his delight, once their lips parted, Dean settled in beside him instead of scooting back to lean on the passenger door. NotSam allowed himself to enjoy it for a few minutes then decided it was a good time to talk. "The website said the Victorians drank blood."

"Yeah. It's weird. I never heard of a succubus bloodsucker. Course I never heard of one being able to do any of the shit you do either."

He'd been thinking about it. Thinking and remembering Before. "Maybe the succubus wasn't the newest Part. Or maybe it wasn't even one at all."

"Parts? Part of what?"

"What remains."

"Oh, that's clear. Thanks so much for explaining."

"Smartass," he muttered, but kissed the top of Dean's head. "Your brother killed the succubus that attacked you. You saw him do it."

"I thought he had, but-"

"No, he did. I remember that death at least, but I think there were others, too. I think I was a collective of lingering demonic energy that somehow merged after each demon was killed."

"So you're saying the succubus was the most aware because it was the freshest kill."

"Yes."

"And it was still fixated on me."

He could practically hear the wheels spinning inside Dean's head. "There was nothing I could have done to save him," he said, heading off the accusation. "But, I wouldn't have interfered even if there were. You were nothing more than prey then."

Dean drew away, then sat with his back against the passenger door so he could study NotSam. "Prey, huh."

He nodded.

"But now you say you love me."

He nodded again.

"How the hell did that happen?"

He shrugged. "It just happened."

 _What just happens can just unhappen, Sammy._ He could hear the words sounding in Dean's mind.

NotSam did the only thing he could – he found a place to stop, then proved to Dean it was in no danger of happening anytime soon.

*

Two days later Dean was thinking that he might have to call the bookstore owner and tell him he'd be arriving later than expected. Although all things considered they'd made better time than Dean had seriously hoped they would.

"You didn't used to be able to do this much thinking when I touched you," NotSam said, setting Dean's bare ass on the hood of the Impala.

Okay, so there was a question, what was weirder, being fucked by a demon in a Sam-Suit or watching that same all-powerful whatisit pout? He wrapped his legs around NotSam's denim-covered hips and almost purred at the feel of cloth against his nakedness. "You really want to talk about this now?" he asked. Sure, they'd parked on some old access road a discrete distance from the highway, but anyone could come along at any time. And didn't that just get him all hot and bothered. "The correct response, by the way, is 'hell, no, let's fuck instead.'"

NotSam gave him the look and shake of the head that quite clearly informed Dean he was an irritating bastard, but apparently he was also a damned sexy one because the slice of heaven between Sam's legs shoved forward and sent Dean reeling into paradise. And wasn't that fucking poetic. "Harder," he hissed, in the mood for something fast and rough.

Apparently NotSam shared the sentiment as he set about giving Dean the pounding of his life. And how high did it rank on the too-aware-to-be-flattering stakes that the whatisit managed to retain enough presence of mind to put his hand over the tip of Dean's cock before they both came. Kept the stains off NotSam's clothes and led to Dean coming another time from watching NotSam lick his hand clean.

"Get me up," Dean groaned, thinking he'd be feeling this romp for a day or two, but the ache vanished by the time NotSam set him on his feet. This healing thing had a drawback or two. A hard swat across his ass made him yelp, then he glared at NotSam. "What the hell was that for?"

"Just encouraging your masochistic impulses," he answered, then spun Dean around and over the hood.

"Damnit, don't you dare," he snapped, but did nothing to move out of the way before another swat landed. A fiery pain zipped from his ass up his spine and Dean groaned loudly. His skin cooled before the echo even died, allowing the next swat to sting as much as the first. Okay, chalk one up to instant healing, and, ow! NotSam picked up the pace, striking with the exact speed necessary to keep Dean caught in the first bloom of pain for several minutes. The concept made his brain hurt almost as much as his butt. Almost. Then there was his cock. Hard as a rock and pulsing with need each time impact forced him to trust against the black metal of his car.

NotSam chuckled. "Always knew you had an unnatural affection for this car."

That NotSam could talk at all made Dean want to kill him. Middle of a road, broad daylight, demon seed dripping from his ass, and writhing like a cat in heat while he got the shit spanked out of him – please God, don't let anyone with a camera phone wander on by. Dean reached the point where he'd consider life worth living if NotSam would fuck him again, but he couldn't get the words out of a throat tight with lust.

No need. Whatisit did the sexual ESP thing again and his cock shoved into Dean's ass with enough force to lift Dean's feet off the ground. Then he did it again, and again. The memory of it had Dean fighting a blush two hours later when he handed the gas station attended a credit card to pay for a fill up and some car-cleaning supplies. He found himself fighting the impulse to ask the guy how good the leather cleaner worked on protein stains.

He walked outside to find NotSam leaning against the driver's door with a satisfied smirk on his face.

Dean glared at him. "Shut up."

"Didn't say a word," he protested the smirk shifting into an ultra-smug grin.

Oh, yeah, like the whole attitude didn't scream _I'm a total stud and you're such a slut._ Scowling – it was his default expression these days – he stalked up to the car and threw the sack into the back seat. He whirled around to give NotSam a piece of his mind, but in mid-turn his toe managed to collide with the curb. Pain beyond anything Dean had ever experienced rocketed up his leg and for a moment his entire body froze up robbing him of the ability to scream.

"Dean!" NotSam clutched his arms. Good thing, too, because the pain instantly vanished and the shock buckled Dean's knees. He'd have fallen if NotSam hadn't pulled him close. "Dean?"

"Not good," he gasped. "Really not good."

NotSam glanced around, then said, "We should get out of here."

Awareness of his surroundings and the presence of spectators – his little demon was becoming a man. Dean would have been so proud if he weren't so busy trying not to faint.

Concern practically oozing from every pore, NotSam got him into the car, then put a few fast miles behind them before pulling over. He cut the engine and reached for Dean.

The contact ended the last of his discomfort, but he snuggled closer instead of pulling away. "You want to explain to me how you can beat the crap out of me without so much as a bruise, but I almost have a heart attack from stubbing my toe?"

"I don't know," came the last answer he wanted to hear. "But my guess is I've made you hyper-sensitive. Just doesn't matter when I'm doing the touching so we haven't noticed."

Okay, scratch the comment on the I-don't-know. Hearing he was cued up to pass out from a paper cut was the last answer he wanted. "You do know how I spend my spare time?"

"We, Dean. How we spend our spare time. And yeah, I know. This could be a problem."

"'Could be?'"

"Look, I'm pretty sure we weren't ever supposed to get out of bed so-"

Dean jerked away from him. "So this is my fault? I pass on eternity with my ass in the air so the fuck-gods decided to punish me?"

"I wouldn't put it that way."

"Wrong answer," Dean snapped, and threw open the car door.

"Look, I'm sure you'll adjust," he said, following him out of the car and sounding too much like an adult trying to placate an hysterical child for Dean's taste.

"Adjust? Adjust, he says!" He stalked over to a tree and gave it a hard slap. The same roiling agony gripped him and the same strong arms kept him upright in its wake. Instead of curling up, Dean shoved NotSam away. "Do. Not. Touch. Me."

NotSam raised his hands and went back to the car.

Dean glared at him, not appreciating being humored in the least, then hit the tree again. This time his knees hit the ground. Didn't matter, he could still reach the tree. Hit. Freeze. Hit. Freeze. Hit. Over and over again he sent waves of horrific pain shuddering through his body. Pain never got better, but finally, he reached the point where he could feel it and still move. Have to do, he thought, then let himself pass out.

*

He came to and found himself back in the car, stretched out in the front seat with his head cradled in NotSam's lap. Long legs left plenty of room between torso and steering wheel so he had no complaints with his pillow. And he'd always found the purr of his baby's engine soothing. Left him disinclined to move a muscle. Should probably say something though. "How long was I out?"

"Almost an hour." The words were tight, full of pent up anger, but the hand that reached down and brushed through his hair was gentle. At a moment like this Dean could almost believe the whatisit really loved him. "Don't ever do that again."

Dean didn't bother saying of course he'd do it again – or something like it – and he'd keep doing it until he could move without the pain getting in the way. Nothing else was acceptable. "I'm okay." A lie and they both knew it.

Silence, then, "Go back to sleep."

"Thought we didn't do that."

"You don't _need_ to sleep, but you can. And I need some time to myself."

He could give him that. "Okay." He rested his hand on NotSam's knee, then closed his eyes.

*

Anger seethed within NotSam. Anger at Dean for hurting himself, for not letting NotSam ease the pain; anger at himself for ever allowing any of this to happen. In what was now this body's soul, he _knew_ he never should have let Dean out of the energy web the first time. He'd been safe and sexy and …

He sighed and gently caressed Dean's hair. If only the succubus hadn't been the final Part or if it had been weaker or if Sam hadn't enjoyed his brother's company enough to make NotSam long for more than what he should have needed. He'd known Dean would get hurt if they resumed human lives, had known it would bother him, but this had been an agony he'd not expected.

If only they could go back, but it was too late. Somehow the energy web no longer enthralled Dean. Each time they had joined since leaving the cabin, Dean had remained more and more aware. NotSam knew that even if it were possible to so totally re-ensnare Dean the act would destroy his mind. But he did not want to bring back Dean's oblivion. He loved seeing those eyes watch him, know him as they moved together. He loved the sound of his voice and the scathing wit. He loved … he loved Dean. To lose him was unacceptable which meant the pain must be endured.

*

They didn't talk when Dean announced he was awake again by sitting up. Sun had set so he didn't have much to look at and he quickly moved beyond bored. "My turn to drive," he announced.

NotSam didn't answer, but he did pull over. Switch made, Dean got them on their way again. It hadn't missed his attention that they hadn't fucked. First time they'd had the opportunity and had let it passed. He didn't know if it was progress or something to worry about. He settled on driving.

The silence continued for several hours. Around the time dawn started poking at things NotSam said, "Pull over."

"I'm still good," he said, not wanting to give up the wheel.

"I'm hungry."

Oh. Well, that was flattering.

"Dean-"

Dean didn't like that little-boy-whine in NotSam any better than he had in Sam. "Sun's comin' up. Give me a chance to find us a hiding place."

"Fine."

"Fine." Shit, they sounded like two toddlers in a snit. 'cept for the part about finding some hidden spot to fuck in. He sighed. Maybe when this was all over he'd write a book – _Sex on the Roadside for Dummies._ It could be a sequel to the _Impala Karma Sutra._

A sign announcing a scenic view ahead caught his eye. That usually meant a place to park and at this time of the pre-morning there shouldn't be any sight-seers around. Yeah, it would work, he decided when they came up on it. He parked the car and they both sat there for a minute or two staring at the slowly fading night. Not knowing how to make any of this better, he settled on making it worse. "So let's eat already," he snapped, getting out of the car.

He stalked around to the passenger side, then propped his hands on the side of the hood. NotSam got out, too. He pulled Dean's jeans down to his thighs and shoved on in. Four thrusts and it was all over. Despite the fact they both came, it felt terrible. A minute later they were back on the road, this time with NotSam behind the wheel.

Dean's perspective shifted. He'd been wrong. It hadn't been about nothing more than eating or even fucking. They'd been connecting, but he hadn't noticed until they'd both blocked it. Completely sucked and the little voice in his head started chanting that leaving things like this would be a bad idea. He sighed and slid from the passenger side to the middle, then lay his head on NotSam's shoulder.

His not-brother sighed. "I love you."

Maybe, but a big chunk of the man the demon inhabited had hated Dean. He and Sam had avoided talking about it, but it had been between them since they'd gotten rid of a spirit into anger enhancement. Sam had left him shortly after that. Because his brother had loved him, too, Sam had come back, but the hate hadn't gone away and Dean had always known he'd leave again. NotSam had said he had Sam's memories, not his emotions, but NotSam got more like Sam every day. Stood to reason the demon would get as fed up with him as the man. He tried to think of some touchy-feely words to say, but failed, so it surprised him when NotSam kissed the top of his head. And just like that the fight was over.

Not certain what he'd done, but not about to rock the boat again, he snuggled closer, then smiled when NotSam put his arm around Dean's shoulders. Okay, connection restored. Life was good again. Or at least as good as it got.

*

The need to stretch their legs prompted another stop in yet another small town shortly before noon. A diner across the street caught Dean's eye as he filled the gas tank and he quickly talked himself into craving a cheeseburger. NotSam gave him a skeptical look, but went with the plan and they both enjoyed chowing down on two greasy burgers and hot fries.

Dean had forgotten how good food tasted and what a pleasure it could be to sit down and have something to eat and drink – even if the place only served Pepsi instead of Coke. Two hours later he was re-thinking the whole thing – pissing dark brown fluid could do that to a guy.

He glared at NotSam as a second stream of what was obviously pure Pepsi joined his on the way to the ground. It probably wasn't fair to give him that look since the eating and drinking thing had all been Dean's idea. But NotSam hadn't objected and since one of Sam's jobs had been taking the blame for stuff Dean didn't want to own up to, he figured there was no reason not to pass the job on to the whatisit.

NotSam finished, then shrugged as he zipped back up. "We don't have digestive systems anymore, so what goes in is exactly what is going to come out."

That was fundamentally wrong. "You're telling me we're going to be shitting cheeseburgers and fries by tomorrow morning."

"No, I'm telling you that in the morning pieces of squashed, chewed up cheeseburgers and fries are popping out."

"That's just gross."

NotSam laughed at him. Dean glared, but could see the point. Given the putrid corpses and all-around gore they dealt with week-to-week getting all uptight about cheeseburger droppings didn't make much sense. On the other hand, yuck. "I'm never eating again," he muttered.

Another laugh, then NotSam grabbed him. "And here I was thinking it was time for a real lunch."

"Hey, I'm busy being grossed out here," he protested, even managed a couple of token squirms, but NotSam kept hold of him. "Not in the mood."

"You sure? It's been a whole six hours since we did it in the backseat."

A smile twitched across Dean's lips. "Oh, well, if we're overdue. …"

*

They reached Portland just after 10 the next morning. Dean parked the car across the street from the bookstore, but didn't get out.

"We going in?" NotSam asked after a couple of minutes ticked by.

"You think he's read it?"

"The book?"

He nodded.

"Does it matter?"

"What if … he can tell?"

That earned him a well deserved you're-losing-it-man look. "That we're lovers?"

Dean snorted. "Any damned fool can tell that. You're kinda clingy, dude." Whenever they were around other people if there were more than three inches between NotSam and himself, Dean would have been damned surprise.

He'd expected an argument, but NotSam smirked. "I'm possessive, not clingy. And you're too pretty to be on a long leash."

To his annoyance, Dean felt the heat of a blush sweep over his face. "I'm not pretty. Girls are pretty; boys are handsome."

The smirk broadened into a big grin. "Pretty," he repeated, getting out of the car. "You coming?"

Dean scrambled after him, then caught hold of NotSam's arm. "Hey, all I'm sayin' is that we're living the sequel to that book and it would be … awkward if he figured it out."

The grin returned and NotSam shook his head. "You're seriously cute when you're being a moron."

Okay, he could accept the moron thing – they weren't wearing T-shirts that announced Demon Lover and Boy Toy – but he did have to take exception to one thing. "Now, I'm cute? You're seriously threatening my macho image here."

That got him kissed – a deep, long kiss with tongue – in broad daylight on a busy street corner. Not good, but damn oh, so good. Miracles of miracles, they managed to finish before some local jerk announced his dissatisfaction with the situation. NotSam gave him a pat on the ass, then started toward the store again.

"Okay, here's the plan," Dean said, jogging a few steps to catch up with that long-legged stride. "We get the book, check into a motel, then have a long conversation about gay boys, public places and the disadvantages of haunting my _brother's_ body."

"Not haunting it, no one around here knows we're bothers," NotSam corrected him. "and once I get you into a hotel room that mouth of yours is going to be too busy to talk."

Prophetic words, but once NotSam shot his load down Dean's throat, Dean drew back intent on doing a little prophecy fulfilling himself. "Now, about this kissing in public thing-"

NotSam lifted him up off his knees and headed for the bed. "You should be happy I don't do more than that."

Dean punched him in the shoulder. "There are laws against more than that!" he snapped. "Damnit, we're not in the middle of nowhere anymore!"

NotSam dropped him on the mattress. "I know that, but you worry too much."

He almost said something about being the responsible, older one, but at the last second his brain kicked in enough to remind him the Thing in Sam's body could be several millenia old. "Shut up and fuck me."

All in all two hours slipped by before Dean could turn his attention to the books he'd purchased. Books, not book. The store owner had greeted them with a broad smile and the news that he'd tracked down a dissertation some English-PhD-wannabe had written about the book. Would the young gentleman care to purchase it as well? Another pained-wince at the price and a credit card exchange later, Dean walked out of the store with both books.

NotSam had bought his own bag of goodies – Sam never had been able to go into a bookstore without wanting to buy up half of it. If nothing else had changed, the sack wouldn't have anything in it Dean would consider reading short of being stranded on a deserted island with nothing else to do.

Contrary to popular belief Sam hadn't been smarter than Dean. But Sam had loved education for education's sake. Dean was more focused. If it wasn't useful, he didn't want to waste his time learning it. His grades had reflected his philosophy. He'd gotten high marks in science – never knew when it would come in handy to know what chemicals came together to make a satisfying explosion – but language arts had been a sore point. His teacher had not been amused when the required-5-page paper on _Wuthering Heights_ had consisted of two sentences: _Heathcliff needs to get a life. The chick seriously needs to move on._ Dean had been equally disgusted with _Frankenstein_ despite the promising plot. But the teacher he'd had that year had a better sense of humor and had given Dean a passing grade on his 3-page rant about how Victor Frankenstein needed to get a backbone and stop having attacks of the vapors. But Sam? Well, Sammy had liked that sort of shit. Now, Dean, he'd liked _The Odyssey._ All sorts of useful information buried in that book, especially during Odysseus' trip to the underworld.

Bottom line was he'd had less use for formal schooling than Sam and it showed in his speech patterns – although some of it was just learning what made a guy sound tough and image in this game was important. He could, however, read every bit as fast as Sam. In fact, given a really useful book, he could read faster. A detail he'd never hesitated to bring up when Sammy got a little too full of himself grade-wise. Or at least he had before Sam had gone off to college. Then their arguments about street-smarts versus education had stopped being a game and had become the thing that had taken Sammy away from him.

Tears stung his eyes and damnit! he did not have time for another weepfest! He snatched up his book and stalked over to the bed NotSam lay on. Annoyed he needed the contact, he stretched out on the bed beside him, but turned so his back was against NotSam's. "Not a word," he hissed.

"Wouldn't dream of it," NotSam said in the distracted sort of voice that indicated he was reading and not interested. Dean might have fallen for it if the whatisit hadn't shifted so they were pressed closer together.

Calmed by the touch, Dean started reading the novel. It took him five hours to read the thing – and it was awful. All the over-the-top gushy crap of a really bad romance novel – and yeah, he'd read a few of those in his quest to understand … okay, score with the ladies – and fainting fits that would have made old Frankenstein proud. Minus the sex and the hysteria, the story was pretty simple. Dude discovered his wife was having an affair and offed her, then set fire to their house. Except she came back to life and they did the blood-and-sex thing for a year, then she left him and he went insane, then died of some wasting disease. It reminded Dean of a lot of horror fiction – lot of nonsense hiding some kernels of truth. He told himself not to worry about the ending, told himself that the repression of the times – and yes, he considered history one of the useful subjects since demons were all about plaguing mankind for centuries at a time – and the need to punish the murderer demanded the husband's death. Didn't mean shit in the current scheme of things. It didn't.

The useful stuff was buried treasure but there -- blue moon, fire, blood and a reanimation of someone who had suffered a violent death. Something else leapt out, too. The NotWife had talked about Parts coming together to unite within the now. What was it that NotSam had said? _A Part of what I was before desired you, so now you are lover, not brother._

At the time Dean had thought it mean the part that wasn't Sam, but the way the chick phrased things it sounded more like multiple parts had merged inside of her corpse. Raised a few questions – like parts of what and how had they come together? – but it all supported NotSam's theory of how a succubus managed to animate Sam and why he and NotSam needed sex, but the VictorianDeanandSamantha had needed blood, with the sex being more of a side benefit.

He spent two more hours reading the dissertation. Dude who'd written it was into the psychological mess of the whole thing, but in amidst the gobbledygook he postulated that the "multi-faceted animating spirit represents the desires repressed by a restrictive age…" Yadda, yadda, yad –

His brain stopped short mid-rant, then his blood went cold as he read the next section. "While fascinating when set against Victorian times, the story is nothing more than a retelling of an obscure folktale in which a demon possesses the corpse of a murdered human, promises its lover eternity, then vanishes a year and a day later. The abandoned lover pays the usual price of consorting with demons – a lingering, painful death."

Vanishes. Dean forced himself to stay calm, to finish reading, then, now knowing the right key words, he hit the Internet again. Turned out the story was obscure only in that it hadn't made the Brothers Grimm's cut. Too much sex, not enough substance, he guessed, but he found reference to seven variations of the story. He'd been in the game long enough to translate that as at least five separate incidents and one or two retellings. All of them had violent death, fire, full moons, abandonment and death in common.

Okay, so eternity equaled another few months. Check. Got it. "Dean? You okay?"

Not in a sharing and caring mood, he shut down the computer. "Fine." He stood, then picked up the books. "I could use a walk. Think I'll see if I can get some of our money back for these."

NotSam started to get up, obviously intending to come with him.

He shook his head. "I need some time to myself."

He could see NotSam didn't want to let him out of his sight, but Dean had given him alone-time when he'd asked and fair was fair. Then again alone for the whatisit had meant finding a way to keep Dean snuggled close, but out of it, so it didn't surprise Dean when he said, "I could sleep."

"Do whatever you want, I'm still going for a walk."

"You should stay here. We should talk."

 _Let's see, well, the thing is, NotSammy, I just discovered you're going to dump my ass and let me die, so I'm a little ticked off. Got anything to say about that?_ Nope, not a conversation he ever wanted to have. "I'll be back before morning," he said and walked out. NotSam didn't follow, Dean had to give the lying bastard points for that, but that's all he had to give him.

Vanished. Abandoned. He threw the books in a rubbish bin a few blocks from the motel. Felt a twinge of guilt about it -- more than one of his contacts would want them, but it didn't seem like a good idea to send them off to someone who might eventually figure things out.

Vanished. Abandoned. Oh, and let's not forget lingering, painful death. Dean really wasn't afraid to die. Like he'd told Sam once, the gig was dangerous and he'd long ago come to terms with the idea that each day had a better than even shot at being his last. Any false bravado such a philosophy held had vanished after they'd unwittingly saved Dean's life at the cost of some poor sap whose only crime had been to take a stand a lady controlling a Reaper hadn't agreed with. Been on stolen time ever since then, but he'd been hoping to check out fast. That lingering, painful crap held zero attraction. He'd have to find a way to do something about that. He sighed. So much for suicide not being his style.

*

NotSam tried to honor Dean's request, but the hurt radiating from his lover forced him to follow. It was as if some sort of cord of pain connected them and he followed its pull within minutes. He was in time to see Dean throw away the books and he retrieved them. Money was too tight for that sort of thing. Besides, it seemed like a good idea to do a little reading of his own.

As he walked he read the last chapter of the novel, then skimmed the dissertation. Shit, it was as if someone had created a mythos specifically to torture Dean's abandonment fears. Any progress NotSam might have made – and he'd rate that as next to none – in assuring Dean when he said eternity he meant eternity would have been completely wiped out by this crap.

He slammed his fist into the nearest wall. The pain shot up his arm and eased his frustration before the injury vanished. Just like Dean feared NotSam would. The symbolism gave him a headache that stuck around – amazing how unrelenting tension could do what shattered bone could not. He didn't need Sam's psychic gift to know he'd had a lot more of these headaches in his future, all with the name Dean stamped on them.

To give Dean some space he stopped at the bookstore and sold the books back for a third of what Dean had paid for them. Given the way these things worked NotSam knew it was a generous deal, but he almost turned it down in favor of the satisfaction of ripping the damned pages to pieces. An annoying surge of practicality and the need to pay the hotel bill made him take the cash.

That errand taken care of he turned his attention to finding Dean and figuring out a way to make things right.

*

In the middle of his suicide plans, another thought occurred to Dean -- he probably should figure out a way to take NotSam out of the equation, too. Odds were damned good the bastard would go off and find another victim. Dean didn't know what was worse, the idea of killing something so much like Sam or of thinking about him promising someone else eternity. Shit, he needed a drink.

He walked into the first bar he came across, then settled down in a back booth with a bottle of whiskey and a glass. It burned on the way down, but to his disgust he quickly discovered that was all it was going to do. No buzz, no oblivion, no nothing. Perfect. Just perfect. But it gave him something to do with his hands, so he kept drinking.

After a time hope raised its fucking head and tried to muscle in on his pity party. The demon in the book had occupied a woman who hadn't loved her husband. Guy had even murdered her. Who'd want to stay with a bastard like that? Sam had loved him, and Dean hadn't killed him. Except … Sam had hated him, too. Had left him more than once and had probably been planning to leave for good once they caught up with Dad, then dealt with the thing that had killed Mom and Jessica. And while Dean might not have thrown those wood shards, Sam had died because Dean hadn't had the sense to leave him safe and sound at Stanford. Yeah, the thing-that-had-killed-Mom had shown up there and killed Sam's girl, but for all Dean knew had led it to her when he'd gone to fetch Sam.

He finished the bottle and the waitress walked over. "Can I get you anything else? Cup of coffee or something to eat?"

Dean thought about ordering another bottle, but she looked like she'd fight him on it – just his luck he'd picked a bar respectable enough to worry about that sort of thing – and it would be a waste of money anyway. "Coffee'd be great," he answered and she rewarded him with a smile.

Blonde, pretty with a killer smile and a nice body – his type in a nutshell, but he didn't feel so much as the tiniest smidge of desire. Guess there was no real need for the short-leash NotSam wanted him on. He was a one-demon man.

He watched her walk over to the bartender and Dean noticed him for the first time. Tall, dark, handsome – his type when he wanted to walk the other side of the fence. Still no interest, and … wait a minute. Tall, dark and handsome? He stared at the man. Oh, yeah, another time, another place and he'd be trying to find out when the guy got off work. It was limited to body type and coloring, but how had he missed that the guys he let into his pants tended to resemble his brother?

His stomach churned and he ran for the door. Made it to the alley before he lost the contents of his stomach. No sour taste of bile to make it really special, but every last drop of the whiskey came up. Spasms kept going. Dry heaves with nothing to show for the effort. The fucking tears started up again, too. God, he was a mess. And maybe painful and lingering was what he deserved.

"Dean." Last voice he wanted to hear and the only one that mattered caressed his ears, then NotSam began to rub his back.

"I wanted him," he gasped between heaves. "I wanted my brother."

"It's okay."

Wrong answer. Dean's head whipped around so he could see NotSam's face. "God, he knew? And don't you dare lie to me!"

NotSam sighed. "He knew, but he also knew you didn't know."

"Like that's supposed to make it all right? No wonder he wanted to get away from me."

Big, warm hands cupped his face. "He loved you."

 _You hate me that much? You think you can kill your own brother? Then go ahead, pull the trigger. Do it!_ Click. _You hate me that much?_ Click. Click. Click. As long as he lived, Dean would never forget that sound. If the gun had been loaded, Sam would have shot him four times. Four fucking times. Mid-attempted murder Sammy had said it had all been about Dean's pathetic need for their father's approval and his habit of giving Sam orders. Later Sammy has said it had been something the shrink's ghost had made him say that he hadn't really meant any of it. Dean had known better. _You hate me that much?_ Yeah, he had and with good reason.

He pulled away from NotSam, not wanting his touch or his comfort. "Sammy was right all along. I _am_ pathetic."

"Dean, I love you."

It hurt and he had to close his eyes against the pain. "You know what I'd really love?"

"What?"

Sam had thought maybe he was cursed and that was why those who loved him died. But that was pain, not a curse. People _did_ love Sammy and never left him willingly. Dean had spent his whole life watching everyone he loved walk away. That was a curse. "I'd really love it if you'd let me die with my brother." He started walking again. "And following me does not count as giving me time alone!"

NotSam grabbed him, then slammed him against the wall. Guess he'd ticked him off some. It was an impressive sight. "Now, let's get this straight, you stupid son of a bitch, I don't give a fuck what your brother felt about you. _I_ love you and you will never mock that again. Got it?"

"Got it." Didn't believe it, but he got it.

"And for the record, I didn't follow you. I felt how much pain you were in and came for you. Comes under the heading of loving you."

Okay, note to self, the ESP-sex-linky-thing worked outside of bed, too. "Sorry, I should have walked further before I stopped to wallow."

The intensity of NotSam's glare went up a couple more notches and for a moment it looked like Dean had a few punches in his future. Then he shook his head and pulled Dean up over his right shoulder.

Dean stared down at NotSam's butt and the pavement as they moved along. Finally he decided the obvious was worth asking, "What are you doing?"

"Taking you back to the motel."

"I can walk."

"Can you?"

"Yes."

"Uh huh, and if I let you walk, will you walk back to our room?"

Ummm, he hadn't really planned on it, but saying so didn't seem like the wisest course of action.

"I'll take that as a no."

"You know, I really don't want to be around you right now."

"I know," came the surprisingly untroubled answer. "I also know you need me right now."

The truth of that irritated Dean right down to the tips of his dangling toes. "Fine, haul me back to bed and fuck my brains out. It won't change a damned thing."

*

NotSam seethed all the way back to the motel and would have given a great deal for a demon or a gang of humans to jump them so he had something to beat to a pulp. Hell, he would have settled for the ignorance that would have granted him the luxury of venting his rage on Dean, but despite the silent anger gripping both of them, NotSam knew that wouldn't solve anything, especially the current crisis. Why did humans have to cling so fiercely to their … issues?

By the time he reached the motel parking lot he decided silence couldn't help. "I found the books and I did a little reading before I sold them back."

He felt the tension in the body over his shoulder go up several notches. "Great," Dean snapped. "Now you know I'm just the flavor-of-the-year and we can drop all the hearts and flowers shit."

NotSam's free hand balled into a fist. So much for the value of their little talk in the alley. Words obviously wouldn't work any better than silence. Maybe showing would. He carried Dean up to their second floor room, then stood him beside the bed. He cupped Dean's face in his hands, then kissed his forehead. He thought, "I love you," but did not say it.

He shifted his attention and his hands to Dean's clothes, stripping off the whiskey splattered shirt, then boots, socks and jeans. He brushed his lips against Dean's and stepped back to remove his own clothing. He held his lover's gaze as he stripped, then moved back to him.

His inherited memories and the energy web had told him the location of every scar on Dean's body, every broken bone, every lingering hurt. All had vanished with the first joining, all except the soul pain NotSam could not touch. But he could touch everything else.

He began by kissing the back of Dean's head, the spot over the fatal injury Dean had never known he'd had, then he moved on to those his lover would remember. He let himself feel the gratitude of Dean surviving each wound, let himself feel reverence for the unmarked skin that made all a mystery unknown by any but them. And he kissed each spot, his lips a gentle pressure against warm skin. The forehead, the shoulder, the heart, with each touch he screamed his love.

His tongue caressed the path of the cut Sam had made to deny the succubus his prey. He nuzzled ribs – each one had been broken at least once, then moved back to the heart. That was the injury that had frightened Sam the most. Sam had tried to regret the death of the man the Reaper had killed to save Dean, but he'd never managed it, never managed to convince himself for a single moment that he would have done anything differently if he'd had it to do over again. NotSam would never know such hidden pain – he could heal his lover with a kiss – but he understood it.

Dean groaned and his legs gave way as NotSam licked his right nipple. "What are you doing to me?" he gasped as NotSam lowered him onto the bed.

"Cherishing you," he murmured around the left nipple, then cut off further conversation by giving the hard nub a small nip. He licked and sucked and kissed all while drawing on the energy all around them to weave the web through Dean.

A loud groan rewarded his efforts and he nipped at the hollow of Dean's hip. Thighs, back of the knees, around the calves, then down to the feet, not a single former hurt went unkissed. He sucked in the big toe on Dean's right foot – broken when Dean was ten – and lavished his attention on this final pain.

Hands tugged on his shoulders and he reluctantly let the toe fall from his mouth and glanced up the length of Dean's body. "Get up here, damnit," Dean hissed.

He smiled, shifting up to lie on top of Dean. Strong legs immediately hugged his ribs and the slightest push sheathed him inside of Dean.

"God," Dean groaned, his eyes closing.

No, none of that. "Open your eyes, baby. Let me see your eyes."

Those beautiful eyes flickered back open. "I see you," he said softly and smiled.

Fed by Dean's awareness and NotSam's love for him, the web pulsed with a grandeur it never should have known, and NotSam began to thrust. Slow and deep, he took his time, but the marathons of the past had disappeared along with Dean's state of oblivion. Now, Dean moved with him, watched him, kissed him, caressed him, and when they came it brought a greater pleasure than anything NotSam had ever known.

All but glowing with energy, he hugged Dean close, then rolled onto his own back. Dean sat up, taking his own care to keep NotSam within him. Then he gave NotSam a considering look, "Tell me you didn't just call me baby."

He grinned.

"I'm the oldest."

"Part of me is more than 2,000 years old."

"Oh, well, then, I guess that does make me the baby." It sounded like surrender, but Dean rolled his eyes.

NotSam laughed. "I love you."

Again the considering look settled on Dean's face and several seconds ticked by. Finally he said, "I love you, too."

Pure joy flooded through NotSam and he fairly hummed with happiness as he cuddled his beloved close. At last, Dean understood.

*

Dean wondered how it would happen. Since the night in Portland, he no longer doubted that NotSam loved him, so would he go from loving Dean one minute, to not giving a damn the next or was that taking a folktale too literally? Maybe the loss of interest would take weeks, months. Or maybe Dean was just fooling himself. Pathetic. He had to go fall in love and complicate everything. He didn't even want to begin to think about how much losing NotSam was going to hurt, but he didn't doubt for an instant that he would lose him.

Knowing the inevitable wasn't all that far away it was tempting to find a place where they could stay in bed until it was all over, but Dean wasn't made that way. Hunting had become as much a crusade for him as for his father, except it wasn't all centered around the thing-that-had-killed-Mom. He wanted to protect and help others; didn't see it as stopping along the road to revenge. He'd leave that to Dad. So Dean got them out of bed and back to work. Business as usual with a lot more sex. Not a bad way to spend a life and he found himself thinking more than once that it would be nice if they really could have that eternity together. At the same time he started trying to figure out how he could manage the fast death he wanted instead of the threatened lingering check out.

He had zero luck on that point until they went after a group of orcs living off the coast of Baja. All due respect to Tolkein aside, they were a lot more like walruses on PCP than big dudes with bad teeth and a major case of the uglies. The crazed little sea monsters had started dining regularly on tourists. Not good, but easy fix. Lead poisoning worked on 'em. Not a euphemism either. Lead shot killed 'em outright or killed 'em slow, but it always killed 'em. Sticking point was they liked to travel in groups of five and there was a limit on how fast even two men armed with shotguns could take 'em out.

The last one got hold of Dean for all of a few second. Mauled him, but good. Almost got him that fast ticket off the planet, but magic spunk saved him again. Three hours later he didn't have a mark on him – not bad considering his arm had been hanging by a thread before NotSam got to him. So, immortality – fleeting or otherwise – good, and back to business, except NotSam kept looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Like he was afraid Dean was going to disappear or something. And he hadn't appreciated it at all when Dean's asked whether or not bits of Dean could reassemble out of orc shit if the damned thing had eaten him.

In any case the sideways staring was getting on Dean's nerves fast. Especially since he kept doing it when he was supposed to be driving. "Eyes on the road, dude," Dean said for the millionth time in the last hour.

NotSam didn't answer, but his gaze did shift long enough for him to pull off the road and park at the far end of a mostly deserted rest stop. Not the best location, but it was the middle of the night and pitch black out – new moon before the thirteenth full one – so no one should notice. "Got something in mind?"

"Yeah, unzip."

He obeyed, but, "Not the best place for bump and grind time. Be a better idea if you just let me blow you."

"Not in the mood," he answered then swooped down to take Dean's cock in his mouth.

Dean let out a yelp of surprise that quickly dissolved into a moan heavy with pleasure. They'd never done this before. It had always been about NotSam in his mouth, his ass. Damn it felt good, except … it kept going on and on. His cock did a happy twitch here and there to celebrate not having to just flap in the breeze, but it wouldn't let go. After several minutes of lovely suction, Dean really, really wanted to be at the spurting fluid part of the program. Slowly his brain got the message, he couldn't come this way.

He pushed at NotSam's shoulders, got him off his cock and sitting upright. Dean bent over and took NotSam's shaft into his own mouth. Didn't have to do more than close his lips around it before they both came and came hard. He saws stars that had nothing to do with the stuff overhead and it took a couple of minutes before he could move again. Even then it was NotSam's turn to sit him up, tuck them both into their jeans, then get the car back on the road.

They didn't talk about it. They drove until midmorning then checked into a motel to shower and other things. No, they didn't talk about it, but Dean wasn't surprised when a naked NotSam stretched out on the bed and presented one fine looking ass for Dean's attention.

Not one to argue in a situation like this, Dean tried to accommodate the silent request, but they got off to a rocky start. He lined up his cock and shoved. NotSam grunted his discomfort and Dean didn't feel all that great about the impact either. Okay, observation number two in the turnabout experiment – Dean's ass might be made for NotSam to take him, but NotSam seemed to require preparation. "Hang on a minute," he muttered, then went to find something slick. Complimentary bottle of hand lotion on the bathroom counter seemed like the best bet, so he grabbed it, returned to the bed, then got busy with the finger stretching.

Once NotSam started writhing happily under his ministrations, Dean pulled out his fingers, slicked up his cock, then tried take-two of pushing in. "Ah, that's good," he groaned as tight heat gripped him. Real nice. Even better than the blow job this morning, but after several minutes he found himself on that same pleasure crest and knew there was no tumbling over it on this side of a ride. Worse, he could feel the beginnings of an energy drain. Nothing serious, but there.

He didn't have to do anything this time. NotSam pulled away and off Dean. Then he turned around and settled Dean under him. Easy glide inside into Dean and they discovered a new definition of good. One thrust, two, four, six and release. Dean saw stars again, then darkness.

 _Shit, I passed out._ He would have been embarrassed, but when he opened his eyes he saw NotSam blinking away his own brush with … not altogether here. "Okay, that goes on the foreplay list," Dean said when he wanted to risk talking again.

NotSam grinned his agreement. A special moment in the life of a boy and his demon, but Dean, being Dean, couldn't help asking, "Did you feel tired anywhere along the line?"

"No." He frowned. "I can't feed you energy this way. Do you feel weak?"

"A little in the middle of things," he admitted, then smiled, "but not anymore." Yeah, he smiled, but inside his brain was ticking away. He'd assumed they both fed from the sex, but now he knew otherwise. By the time they hit the road again he thought he had it figured out. He got the energy he needed to exist from sex. The whatisit's energy came from somewhere else. That meant two things – NotSam did not need Dean to survive; and if Dean could figure out where NotSam's energy was coming from, he could block it and kill him.

*

A week before his year and a day was up, Dean's daily Internet search found what he was looking for. No, not a way to kill NotSam. He'd been damned careful not to figure that out because if he had he might have felt the need to at least leave Dad a note about it and he knew Dad would have no reason not to kill what he would see as the thing that had murdered both of his sons. No matter what happened, Dean couldn't find it within himself to want NotSam dead. What he'd found was his own way out in a literal blaze of glory.

Big, badass fire demon at work in a small town on the Pennsylvania border. It would take him four days to get there. Should leave him enough strength to do what had to be done, but weak enough to make certain he didn't survive.

He put his brain on hold long enough to lure NotSam into a few hours of sex. Told himself it was all about one last meal to keep up his strength, but he told NotSam he loved him again. Always made the whatisit so happy when he did that. Hard to believe in another seven days NotSam wouldn't give a damn about what Dean felt or said. But he'd learned not to question shit like this. What will be, will be and all that crap.

His escape plan was easy enough. He waited until NotSam was in the shower, got dressed, grabbed his bag and slipped out the door. Dean drove away and didn't look back. Even felt sort of pleased with himself. For once he'd managed to do the leaving. Didn't make it hurt any less, but sometimes the principle of the thing mattered.

*

NotSam loved long, hot showers and even the cheapest motel could usually satisfy him, but after a while he began to miss Dean. He tried to ignore it – he liked to give them some downtime when he could – but the need to hold him kept growing. Finally he couldn't stand it anymore and he stepped out of the shower. Thinking entertaining thoughts of returning with company, he left the water running and walked into the room.

For a split-second Dean's absence merely disappointed him. The thought that his lover had gone for a paper or something from the vending machines stopped before it could fully form as he noticed some of the bags were missing.

Goosebumps rose on his skin. No. He couldn't make himself move for a moment, then he ran for the door. Not giving a damn that he was naked, he threw it open and found himself staring at an empty parking spot. No. No. No. No!

*

The demon-mojo lasted long enough to let Dean drive straight through without doing more than stopping for gas. But he was hungry by the middle of the second day. Not stomach growling hungry, his stomach didn't know how to do that anymore, it was more like a need-Starbucks-now feeling. Unfortunately a venti latte wouldn't fix things anymore.

Brightmore, Pennsylvania, reminded him of a hundred other small towns he'd visited. Well, except for the dozen burned lots scattered around the place. Definitely a fire demon. None of the buildings were side-by-side. Each structure had burned separately on different nights, and nothing remained beyond a charred mark on the ground. He did some scouting around, then bought a cup of coffee for show at a local diner and began to plan. The town had twenty-eight buildings and homes left and, if his energy loss rate stayed constant, Dean figured he had four days to live. Hey, bright side there. He'd outlive the year and a day timetable by a good twenty-four hours.

Okay, fire demon, how to get rid of it. Salt water would kill it, but not a lot of that this side of the state. And a bucket full of the stuff wouldn't cut it. Anything less than total immersion would just piss the thing off. Worse, there had to be enough volume to keep it wet for a few minutes. So even a good sized hot tub wouldn't mange to hold enough to prevent all the water from boiling off before the demon was dead.

The solution was obvious – high school had a pool. All he needed was a couple of barrels of salt and a way to get the demon to focus on the school instead of the other twenty-seven buildings. He'd gone through Dad's book, but it didn't have what he needed in it, so he pulled out his cell. Time to put the knowledge boys to work. He deleted another seven voice-mail messages from NotSam without listening to them. The whatisit called once an hour. Dean's plan was to be nice and dead before he flipped open the phone and didn't find any messages waiting.

Each call to one of Dad's contacts started out the same way – where the hell was he? And didn't he know Sam was looking for him?

"Yeah, well, doin' some tough love here," he'd answered, knowing that was vague enough in a too-much-information sort of way to get everyone to back off. Then he told them what he needed.

Took four calls to find a contact with an answer. "Fire demon pheromones?" What was it with sex, demons and him?

"Hey, it should work," Joshua answered. "And the chemicals you need to make it shouldn't be hard to find."

Yeah, chemistry had definitely been one of the more useful high school subjects.

Unfortunately, it turned out Joshua had been an optimist about local supplies. Dean lost another day and the town another building – post office this time – while he drove to Philadelphia and back. Joshua hadn't been the only optimist either. His energy drain had picked up. No way he'd last three more days. 

He tried to whip up a batch of fire demon love potion, but he was tired now and made a mistake. He had to start over and before he could get it done a house burned down – mother and son made it out; the father and daughter, didn't. Dean blamed himself and knew there was a good chance those people might still be alive if he'd brought NotSam along. But the scales would be balanced soon enough. He'd never thought much about the afterlife, but right now, he hoped for oblivion. A nice nothingness where he didn't have to be alone or think about people who had died because of him.

*

Staying put ate at NotSam's soul, but he had no idea where Dean had gone and knew it was better to stay versus to head in the wrong direction. A part of him even hoped Dean would come to his senses and return, but he knew better. Soon Dean would be far too weak to do anything let alone come back to someone he had convinced himself would no longer want him. But it still made more sense to stay until he had some lead.

He flat out harassed Dad's contacts trying to find out if Dean had talked to them. None of them admitted to it. He told them Dean was sick, wasn't even aware of it, but it would be very bad if he weren't found quickly. It hadn't helped. They either didn't believe him or really hadn't heard from Dean.

NotSam tried to stay calm, tried to think it out, but he could not remember a single thing to even hint at where Dean had gone. It was maddening, knowing Dean was out there alone, needing NotSam and feeling like he was the last one he could turn to. Damned, crazy fool. That was the message he left every single time he called Dean's cell and ended up getting his voice mail. "You damned, crazy fool, I love you! Tell me where you are!"

He'd resigned himself to waiting a few more days then filing a missing person's report so the police would search the morgues for him. Then his cell finally rang. He pounced on it, but Caller ID gave him the bad news. Joshua, not Dean. His heart a lead weight in his chest, he accepted the call. "Hello."

"Sam," Joshua's voice responded, "normally I wouldn't do this – I don't like meddling in family business – but I talked to Dean again an hour ago and he sounds even worse than he did a few days ago."

Fuck. "I told you he was sick," he said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, well, that's easy to say. Anyway, I ran his GPS chip before he signed off. He's in Pennsylvania."

*

Dean could barely stand by the time he got the salt into the pool and the pheromone trail laid down. His arms and legs trembled, but he didn't dare sit. Instead he hoisted his knapsack onto his back and picked up the super-soaker. Salt-water filled balloons wrapped in heat resistant material and an over-sized squirt-gun wouldn't do anything but piss the thing off, but Dean needed it angry. Angry things didn't think or notice their surroundings.

The fires had all happened at 1 in the morning – best time to catch sleepers unaware – which was one of the reasons the school was still standing. The demon liked death and schools were empty at night. Asking a lot from synthetic demon musk to get it to ignore so many people all snug in their beds, but Joshua had remained certain it would work when he'd checked in with Dean after he'd read there had been another fire.

At 1:10 he heard the front doors blow open. Had to hand it to Joshua, the man knew his stuff. He hoisted his gaudy plastic weapon as a blob of white-hot flame the size of a pick-up truck flowed into the view. The fire alarm sounded and the sprinkler system switched on. Dean hadn't laced that reservoir with salt – demon got hit with that right off the bat it would leave. Besides, the water evaporated before it reached the being at the flame's core.

Dean shivered and slowly backed along the hallway. Weird to feel this cold with that much heat coming at him, but he was freezing. He sensed a coma in his very near future, but still held his fire. As the demon moved along the scent trail, everything around it burst into flames – even things that tended to melt instead of burn. The good news was that the effort would cool the demon down some; the bad news was that this part of the school would be a total write off. But if Dean's plan worked, the flames would vanish when the demon died and a good half of the school should be salvageable.

With really combustible material in short supply the demon started to cool. Gone from white to red and some of the sprinkler water was getting through. Joshua's stuff was good enough that the demon kept going a full ten-feet beyond where Dean had guessed it would decide it had had enough. But stop it finally did.

Dean thought about year-old flames moving toward him and his brother's body. Time to let fire finally claim him. He pulled the plastic trigger and a stream of saltwater shot out and hit the darkest spot he could aim at.

The demon roared and noticed him for the first time. Dean grabbed a balloon from the knapsack and threw it, then began a fast retreat. It followed, bellowing every time Dean's weapons struck. More than once Dean stumbled and each time it was harder to get back up. He'd misjudged this badly. The whole idea had been to let himself get weak, then take on more than he could handle and survive. The not surviving bit was a go, the heat was sapping what little go-juice he still had, but he'd intended to die _after_ he took out the bad thing. The horrible knowledge that he wouldn't manage the last part began to take form.

The pool doors were around the next bend. A few feet tops. Might as well have been a million miles away. His knees shook, his thighs trembled and two, three more steps and the town would have one more crispy corpse to deal with as well as a pissed off fire demon.

He stumbled again and began to fall for the last time, but strong hands grabbed his arms and pulled him upright into a kiss. His eyes widened and a spark of energy surged within him, but the demon was too close and NotSam had to break the kiss.

NotSam jerked the knapsack off Dean, then shoved him toward the pool doors. "Get in there!" He didn’t waste the breath to add _you fucking moron!_ but Dean heard it all the same and couldn't really disagree.

Seeing no other choice, he sprinted to the pool. He took refuge to the left of the doors. He tried to calm his racing heart, to get his breathing steady, but things had spiraled too far out of control and he couldn't stop the energy drain and within seconds he was back where he'd started – ready to drop dead with a fire demon closing in.

The pool doors burst open and the most horrific thing he'd ever seen tumbled into the room. A burning figure grappled within the flames with the fire demon, trying to force it the last few feet to the water. NotSam burning, burning because of him, no, it wasn't supposed to happen this way. The calmness he needed settled in and he could think again. Time to put all that practice in moving through the pain to use.

"Be right behind you, bro," he whispered the words he'd spoken a year and a day ago, then lunged at the center of the flames. Dean screamed as his body made contact with the fire demon and NotSam, then they were in the pool and the water began to boil.

His mind lacked a word to describe the level of pain exploding through him, then the water shimmered and he found himself behind the wheel of his Impala. He couldn't see a thing beyond the dash lights and the glow of the headlights. Utter darkness swallowed everything else. "Figures," he muttered. "I even screw up dying." He looked up and out to where the sky should have been. "Hey! Isn't there supposed to be some sort of fucking white light?"

"Only if you want to see it, bro."

He jumped and the car swerved. "Jesus! Sammy, good thing there's nothing out here to hit!"

Sam smiled. "Kind of counted on that, but how did you know it was me instead of NotMe?"

"Funny." He sighed. "I get a vibe from him."

"He makes your toes tingle."

Okay, first thing he wanted to know about the afterlife – could he kill someone in it? "He does _not_ make my toes tingle!"

Sam laughed. "Dude, you are so in love."

Dean decided on the ever popular not dignifying that with a response, then he frowned. "Some demon whatisit is using your body to fuck me. Shouldn’t you be freaked out or something?"

"Death gives one perspective."

"Bullshit."

Sam grinned again. "I've missed you, Dean."

 _Never have I seen a soul go so swiftly into the light._ "Yeah, right." Dean lying on the floor bleeding to death while flames closed in and Sammy takes off like a bat out of hell. Couldn't you just feel the love? "So how does this gig work? And why isn't there a light?"

"Short answer on that is you're not dead."

"Oh, give me a break. I've been starved, fried and parboiled. Really not seeing much 'live long and prosper' in that, Sammy."

"Did you miss the part about immortality meaning you live forever?"

"That was just demon pillow talk. He's probably already healed and found himself a new entrée to fuck."

"Actually, he's doing everything he can to bring you back."

"Huh, must not have used up my minutes yet."

"Dude, he's not leaving you. He's never leaving you."

 _Never have I seen a soul go so swiftly into the light._ "Everybody leaves, Sammy."

"What can I say, Dean? One minute I'm living a life I never wanted and the next Jess is standing there." At least he was honest about it. Life with Dean sucked, death didn't. Wonderful.

"And you lived happily ever after in the After. I'm happy for you. Now where's the light?"

Sam ignored the sarcasm. "The reason he loves you, the reason he'll never leave you is that the part of me I left behind is the part that wanted to stay with you. He's me, Dean, except he can love you in a way I never could."

He wanted to believe that. He really did. "It doesn't work that way, kid. Everything goes poof after a year and a day."

"You underestimate yourself, Dean. You woke him up and made him love you. He's hooked and he's staying hooked."

Right, 'cause he was so loveable no one would ever think of exiting stage right. A change of subject was in order. "How's Mom?"

"She's good. She's raising us and enjoying life with Dad."

 _Raising us?_ Dean groaned. "Oh, God, don't tell me heaven's like that damned movie." _What Dreams May Come_ had to be the scariest flick Dean had ever seen – the very idea that his piece of heaven would be formed by his dark imagination had made him shudder when he saw it and this experience was so not changing his mind.

Sam hadn't and didn't share the feeling. He grinned. "Yeah, Jess and I had lunch with Socrates yesterday."

Dean started hitting his head against the steering wheel not caring in the least what the damned car did. Sam's hand on his shoulder stopped him. He sighed and admitted the truth, "I don't know how to build a paradise, Sammy."

"Sure you do. You live it every day."

"Come again?"

"Demon hunting was always about revenge for me and Dad. You're the one who does it for the right reasons."

So now he got the Impala. "So my slice of heaven is driving around in this hunk of metal and hunting down demons."

"Yeah."

Sam didn't have to tell him the rest. Sooner or later he'd add Sam into the mix, but it wouldn't really be Sam. Not the way NotSam was. That thought made his head hurt -- and how the hell did you get a headache in the afterlife? "If I'm not dead, how come I'm here?"

"Sort of like Hercules tells Odysseus when they met in the underworld – part of Hercules was in the Underworld because he'd died, but the gods made his body immortal, so another part of him lived on Olympus."

Great, another piece of fiction lives. This was setting a seriously bad precedent – there was a hell of a lot of lousy fiction out there. Ah, well, he got the message. "So I can stay here and NotSam can have my body to use as a blow up doll."

Sam nodded. "Except that's not what he wants. Question is what do you want?"

*

NotSam sat in the backseat of the Impala holding Dean's body. He'd healed him and the flesh was once again warm and whole. The chest rose and fell with each breath as well, but there was a terrible emptiness within.

The soul had flown and there was nothing he could do to bring it back. He'd failed to save him just as he'd failed to convince him that he was loved. Tears slid down NotSam's cheeks. Was it only a few weeks ago that he'd thought it would have been for the best if they'd never emerged from the energy web? Apparently someone had listened and had granted his wish. Now he could take Dean away to a place where no one would ever find them and make love to him for all eternity. And those eyes would never look at him again.

He clutched Dean and began to sob.

*

A sudden absence of pain startled Dean awake and he opened his eyes to find himself cradled against a familiar chest.

"Dean," he heard NotSam sob as he rocked him, "please wake up. Dean."

Peaceful in a way and it was a nice change to hear someone actually wanting him to stick around, but the crying and the rocking quickly got on his nerves. "I'm awake already."

NotSam jerked him up with impressive speed and held him so they were eye-to-eye. He stared at Dean with wide-eyed wonder, then he scowled. "Don't you ever do that to me again!" he shouted and gave Dean a shake

He risked looking down at himself. Naked – as expected, tended to work out that way whenever NotSam got close – and amazingly whole. No burns, no cooked flesh. Impressive. He also noticed the sun was up. That meant the deadline had passed and to his annoyance he had to admit that everyone who had been calling him a fucking idiot had been right. "Sammy sends his regards."

Fear swept across NotSam's face. "You were in the light?"

"Nope. No light for me. Whole lotta no light is more like it." And wasn't that a bitch. He'd discovered there was a Heaven after all and found it disappointing all in one night's work. "Seems I got to choose between driving around in a fake Impala with a fake brother fighting fake demons or coming back here and doing some real work with you."

Some of the color returned to NotSam's face. "You chose me."

"No contest. I really hated that movie." He smiled. "Reality bites sometimes, but it works for me."

"And me?"

He looked into NotSam's eyes and for the first time didn't like thinking of him like that. _Go ahead and call him Sam._ Permission from a ghost or his subconscious? No way to know, but he liked the idea of Sam and his Mom living happily ever after in their own personal paradises, so what the hell. "Thought I'd start calling you Sam."

Sam smiled. "It is my name."

"'Yeah, it is. And another thing I want that eternity you promised me, but only if you're with me."

"I will be."

"You better be or I'll track you down and kick your ass."

That earned him a smile that held a bit too much amusement for Dean's taste. But Sam kissed him, so Dean decided to forgive the slight. For now. Obviously demonboy needed a good lesson in the disadvantages of setting up household in his younger brother's body. Dean knew all his moves and he knew how to fight dirty.

"I love you."

Dean figured he'd put the poor demon through enough, so he set aside his indignant plotting and answered with all the sincerity he knew how to muster, "I love you, too."

A kiss later it occurred to him that adding "Sam" might have been a nice touch. Too awkward now. Well, from the start they'd known one good way to chase away the awkwards and everything else. He put his arms around his lover, kissed him and let the heat rise in his body. "Make love to me, Sammy," he whispered and let himself fall into a paradise of their own making.

End

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Selena's story _Welcome to the End_ which, unfortunately, no longer seems to be available. The story was much darker than anything I write these days, but it was utterly intriguing. My thanks to her for the inspiration!


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